


What Cannot be Undone

by HeviMetal



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fantasy, Murder, Possible Jonsa, Slow Burn, Vampires
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:35:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24726106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeviMetal/pseuds/HeviMetal
Summary: Life's unfair and Sansa hates it. She has an annoying family who don't understand her and wishes it would all change. Throw in some murder, romance, and vampires and she just might get what she wished for.
Relationships: Petyr Baelish/Sansa Stark
Comments: 3
Kudos: 11





	What Cannot be Undone

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work that has been on my mind since S7. I've written it, deleted it, re-written it, deleted it, and again a few more times until now. I've told myself I'll stick through to the end and so I will. This will be a slow burn. So buckle in and hang on tight. We are going for a late night ride.

When Sansa laid in bed awake with frustration, she couldn’t decide if it had been because of Arya, her younger sister, caught in a screaming match with her younger brothers Bran and Rickon, or, because of the math test she hardly studied for tomorrow.

She didn’t want to fail her class, when in reality she wouldn’t, but anything below a ninety percent average is unacceptable. Sansa knows her parents will ignore it in favour of disciplining Arya who was always on the verge of failing, still, it didn’t represent the image of perfection. As a woman meant for great things, she must be perfect, this is what she believes. 

“It’s not fair.”

Why couldn’t they be in their senior year of school balancing grades, fashion, and a social life while trying to keep some sanity by having siblings as monstrous as them? They would surely understand, right? Sansa sometimes felt it was the Gods cruel fate that her parents had more kids after her, especially an un-cute, unladylike sister like Arya. Divine punishment she figures, for constantly breaking her prayers to the Gods at the age of nine assuming pious deals for chocolate. That’s about when Arya’s demonic behavior arose. Sansa had always wanted a younger sister, at least one that she could mold to be like her, instead she lives with a bratty demon. Lesson learned--never dishonor the old Gods.

Since then, Sansa has been the ideal daughter. Graceful, beautiful, intelligent, and yet it’s all tossed out the window for a single moment when she curses into the night; the kind of words ladies never speak. 

“Damnit, why me?”

Getting out of bed, Sansa growls while shoving her arms through a fluffy pink robe and knots it tight with all the fury of a wolf. She’s settled on the idea of teaching them a lesson. Better yet, if she fails her test tomorrow, pinning the blame on them wouldn’t be too bad. Surely it’s their fault.

“Why can’t you be quiet?”

She tries to ignore the mess in the jack and jill bathroom while passing through, feeling extra spiteful they have to share. Sansa thought sharing the bathroom days were over when Rob, the eldest Stark sibling, had left on his own to pursue his future. Little did she expect, having the bathroom to herself did not last very long for Bran and Rickon wanted their brother’s bigger room compared to their smaller one. This also meant Arya would spend more time with them, sparring Bran after karate classes or fighting them when they would try rotations of two against one.

“Seriously, will you all shut up? I have a test tomorrow and must be up at six!” She’s taking a glance at the Felix wall clock which read eleven. 

“Why do you even get up so early?” Bran asks, stuck in Rickon’s choke-hold.

“It’s because she has to put on her mask and look pretty for all the dumb boys at school to fall for her.” Arya mockingly says in what looks to be the position of a referee. “Because she is uninteresting and unoriginal so she has to fake it to get anyone’s attention.”

“I could kill you” Sansa coolly responds with knives in her eyes instead of screaming. “Stop playing your stupid little games and go to bed. Children--You all are such children I can’t stand it. I wish you’d all go away and let me be! Just disappear somewhere and never come home.” Her words are out quicker before she could add any fluff to soften the blow.

On que Rickon begins to cry.

“Good job your highness, you made Rickon cry because you’re acting like an arrogant bitch.” Arya throws her marker microphone at Sansa, venom in her words as she watches its felt tip strike Sansa’s cheek like a metaphorical slap. 

Sansa swallows her growing lump aware of the damage. 

She should have had more control. Last week they made a deal. On her birthday, Sansa swore she would be patient with Arya, Bran, and Rickon. Their fights were getting a little old and a little too immature for a freshly turned seventeen year old. She knew eventually it would have to stop, but not when she’s past twenty and far into her relationship with some wonderful guy who will romantically propose to her and take her far away from her family which she will only see on alternate holidays when they aren’t at his family’s home. They will have many kids and a friendly dog. All the girls will be cute angels while the boys will become perfect princes. A dream worth sacrificing for. So peace must be made, and blowing out the candles on her cake made that promise so much more real. 

Inhaling tranquility she ignores the bright mark on her cheek turning her focus on calming Rickon down. She moves close to him, kneeling down to pull him in for a hug and tries to hush his tears.

“I’m sorry Rickon. It was awfully mean of me to say those things.” her voice a soft whisper in tandem with her rocking. “I didn’t mean it.”

“You went too far!” Arya yells not caring who she wakes up. Bran follows behind echoing the words.

“I said I’m sorry!”

“Sorry’s not good enough. Sorry doesn’t always fix everything. We aren’t your friends or those boys at school you think you can get away with batting your pretty little eyes. We are your family.”

Guilty as she is, it’s taking every good deed within to not snap at her sister. Sansa knows Arya can see through her, can see the shame in her trembling resentment, and she’s sure it’s why Rickon is near bawling again. 

“What do you want me to do?”

“I don’t know.” Arya stands stiffly with defiant hands on her hips “What do you want Sansa to do Rickon?”

Silence is measured by cat eyes moving side to side till it’s almost 11:16 on the clock before Rickon simmers to a humming sob. “I want chocolate.”

“Fair enough, there’s some in the pantry downstairs. I know mum stashed a bunch leftover from Christmas.” 

Bless mum and her diligent concerns for dental health. 

Sansa is ready to sneak downstairs, standing at light-speed, a flawless plan already in motion after years of practice to satisfy late-night cravings when Arya came between her and the door. 

“I don’t think that’s good enough.”

Brandon nods. “We really shouldn’t let a good opportunity go to waste. I hope you understand Sansa. Especially since this is what Rickon wants.” he’s shy to admit. 

She sniggers with a queer look, pondering if they know how crazy they sound. “You know the stores are closed right? And they won’t open until tomorrow morning. By then you’d have to wait until after school because good luck convincing mum we need more chocolate in the house. Rather, good luck trying to convince her to stop when we already are on a tight schedule. Unless it’s completely forgotten that Arya likes to sleep in and fight with mum to get up.”

Rickon’s eyes begin to water, ready to breach the dam.

“Liar. They aren’t all closed. You know the grocery down the street is open till midnight.”

“And you know it’s almost midnight. I’d never make it on time. I’m not doing it.”

“Jon would do it for us.”

Sansa glares at Arya while pushing air through her nose. 

_Would Jon do it_? Sansa thinks about their half brother. She would never admit it, but it’s these kinds of situations when she unwillingly thinks of Jon, near missing him. No one understood Arya as best as he. Their connection is unbeaten in comparison to the rest of the family, although Father came a close second, she naturally gravitated to Jon as kindred spirits do to those who are aligned with their interests, clothes, and habits. And honesty is no exception for Sansa lost count how many times he’s corrected her in his broody character. 

They hadn’t bonded. In the beginning Sansa accepted her mother’s wrath towards Jon as genetic, but as she grew older, she understood the words ‘he’s no child of mine’ equated to melancholy, unhappiness, and anger. Thus, she wouldn’t allow herself to be a target of her mother’s disapproval. 

She remembers the day Jon turned eighteen vividly because mother had kicked him out of their home. Among everyone, Arya felt it the worst, feeling spiteful towards their mother constantly reminding them he didn’t deserve to be treated like an unwanted dog. Father hadn’t challenged mother, it was a fight he knew he’d lose, and Arya blamed their dad for it too--an act of betrayal. Sansa may have been younger then, but she knew when her parents argued, she could hear her father saying ‘ _Must you bring up the past, Cat? He’s just a boy_ ’. 

“Alright, give me money.” Jon would, he would be practical.

“Why? Use your own. You have an allowance like the rest of us, unless you used it on some stupid makeup or designer shoes.”

“I don’t have a lot and what I do have left over is for lunch or for after school when I go out with my friends.” Nevermind sharing that she in fact does have enough and has been saving a month’s worth of allowance to get the new HG bag which is announced to be released this weekend. Chocolate is worth nothing compared to a sleek nude leather bag with gold printed lettering and matching chain straps. 

“We aren’t providing the funds for your apology.” 

“Right. And how do you think I’m going to get there? Drive? I’m not risking my record to illegally drive and get an Arbor Bar.”

“You can take my bike.” Bran offered.

“No-thank-you.” Sansa shivered aware of the second hand hobbies Bran has been into and Gods know where or whom he bought it from. Mother almost lost it when he came home with a caged raven once.

“Then walk, princess.”

“You must be out of your mind if you expect me to walk alone at night, Arya. It’s almost midnight for Gods’s sake. Plus I’m in my nightie already, I can’t possibly be seen like this.”

“Then go change and drive.”

“No.”

“You’re being stubborn, Sansa.”

“You all are asking too much!”

“Rickon.”

Before he could start again, Sansa’s teeth and eyes clenched whilst raising her hands up in defeat. “This is madness! Fine, fine, I’ll get it.” 

And like that it was over. 

All eyes are on her when she stomps out of the boy’s room, Arya hot on her heels. Sansa’s second pass through the bathroom awards her regret, now aware of misdirected toothpaste and spit mixed all over the sink, mirror, and toilet seat. Freshly disturbed and annoyed, she’s deep into her closet, searching for what little black clothes she owns. By the time she’s done zipping her black jacket up and stuffing the last of her nightie into her pants, Arya is practically pushing her out the window. Sansa steals a quick glance at her standing mirror and immediately hates how ridiculous she looks. She never should have let Arya convince her to do her makeup, the black eye shadow combo-ed with her clothes made her look like the alternative kids at school, an image she never hoped to experience. 

“I look ridiculous.”

“You look fine to me. But what do I tell mom and dad if they come up?” Arya’s question is as genuine as the concern on her face, probably one of the few times she’s looked at Sansa without contempt; like a real sister.

“Tell them I’m in the bathroom. Leave the lights on so it looks believable. Please--don’t come up with something obnoxiously disgusting. I have my phone on me so text me what you decide on and I’ll text you when I come back. Be ready to unlock the door and let me in.” Sansa almost wishes she actually enjoyed and committed herself to stick with gymnastics. Getting back in through the second story window would have probably been feasible. “Promise me.”

Arya laughs, her phone in hand snapping a picture. “I promise.”

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

While most of Kings Landing sleeps, Dandy Merchants remain awake, an innocent establishment among the vulgar. It’s by no means the best market within the city, but it carries the essentials to get the job done for on the go mothers or frantic college kids. Granted Kings Landing is known for being a beach-side city with a renowned private school, it’s also a hot spot for the wealthy. That said, Dandy Merchants is a sore thumb of sorts. There are five cars present when Sansa arrives at the dimly lit parking lot, checking her surroundings one more time relieved there are no patrol cars or familiar faces. Reflexively, she checks her phone pleased that jogging part of the way saved her some time as noted by the fifteen minutes remaining until closing time, however, no new messages from Arya; She must be conjuring something terribly bad. All that’s left now is to walk in, grab the candy, check-out, and leave without any issue--easy. 

“Let’s do this” the words sound as convincing as her blindly done ponytail. _I can do this._

Sansa played into her mind which made her invisible to any present souls within, yet she should have known better that it’s impossible to enter unnoticed when the clearly outdated greeting screeches “WELCOME” and buzzing fluorescents highlight her image like spots on a cow. Dandy Merchants, by most’s opinions, is definitely the most tasteless piece of history in Kings Landing. It’s owner, Mr. Carmello refuses to let go of the 70’s as he says it was the Golden Age of freedom, expression, and love. And while the sentiment sounds really nice, she simply cannot allow herself to agree with a time period that celebrated shag carpet as a genius and versatile textile. She’s willing to bet he has it in his Mystery Machine van outside, probably fitted with a disco ball too.

Sansa passes the aisles in a blur ignoring their numbered signs and descriptions above until she finally finds the candy aisle. Her eyes scan each box of chocolates looking for Arbor Bars carefully reading their brands not to mix it up with Harbor Bars, a common mistake, one her father accidentally made when he brought some home and Rickon’s tantrum lasted a solid twenty minutes.

 _C’mon where are you_? If only objects could talk. Easily she identifies it’s brown and red meshed colours and stylized text only to have her excitement drained reading the box is empty. SOLD OUT.

That’s when bottled frustration unleashed in an ugly exaggerated sigh. 

“It’s not fair”

Her arms toss into the air and come back slapping against her black jeans ‘I give up’. What is she going to do? The store is closing soon and she can’t even think about going home empty handed, Rickon will start crying with or without Arya and Bran’s disapproval and then she’d have to walk on eggshells around them because at any given moment they would just tell their parents what happened and then everything will be much worse. Like grounded worse! The thought made her head ache. She’s worked too hard to lose out on her bag.

Of course, when despair hits, inspiration strikes.

Although it seemed she would have been in the clear until check out, Sansa is on the move again, this time carefully skimming the aisles to find one misplaced bar. Maybe she can ask someone who works here if they have any in the back. It’s a smart decision, yet she’s chewing on her bottom lip over the thought of being exposed, perhaps the bravery she felt early has begun to fade. The chances are slim, but her hope is high. Sure she would feel embarrassment, but who’s to say she can’t fake illness when she doesn’t plan on ever returning here again.

She reaches an end cap with all kinds of junk food on display, from crisps to other various sweets. Sansa picks up a packet of cookies, the ones that a rainbow has vomited all over the surface and makes a face at the amount of artificial ingredients listed. Why kids love them is a mystery, still it’s not what she’s looking for. With five minutes remaining per announcement overhead, it’s now or never. Sansa is reaching in the far back of the shelf hoping to skim her hand across the familiar rectangle shape. She goes on tiptoes for extra reach, there has to be one! An associate walks by, possibly college age mumbling to hurry up and make her purchase completely forgetting to ask. Oh please! she prays behind closed eyes nearly making the same mistake as a child. Going up further on her toes, the burn is mostly unimportant until she gets a cramp and it’s over. Sansa unintentionally takes a blind step back falling slowly to _Take a Chance on Me by Abba_ blaring while products rain down all around. The floor is hard, unforgiving. She registers the pain on her tail bone, a plastic bag stuck to her palm, and the groans of someone she’s currently crushing.

“I’m so sorry!” Her response is immediate, scrambling gracefully to stand like a newborn horse.

“I’m alright” His hand is out, gloved and open to assure no harm has come. “Are you?”

Sansa tries to catch her breath and at the same time, examine her innocent casualty “I’m fine, sir.” She offers her hand, he’s already standing. She watches him look at her, a twitch of confusion on his brow, but it fades away as soon as he smiles.

He’s wealthy. Sansa’s heart sank as she bit her lip knowing the bill will be lengthy when long designer black coats, like Vandeer, are caked with Dandy Merchant’s grime. What makes it worse is now she can’t escape her parents wrath, they are definitely going to know she snuck out, walked alone at night to buy chocolate, and nearly killed a man. This is all Jon’s fault if he hadn’t left without letting anyone know where he went. If she at least knew, she could have called him for a favor or she wouldn’t even need to buy chocolate because the problem from before wouldn’t have happened, they’d be too busy doing other things elsewhere. 

“I wasn’t paying attention.”

“So I can tell. It’s very late for a girl like you to be out at this time. Are you here alone?”

“I am.” Sansa shrivels under his gray eyes at the possibility the authorities and her parents may get involved the moment he gives the word.

“Kings Landing has set a curfew due to recent crimes. And to me, you look very much the part of a thief.”

“I-I’m not.” Stupid Arya! “I’m not a thief and I’m not a child, I’m eighteen.” She lies.

The fine dressed man looks from her to the sweets on the floor, and smiles. He nods his neatly parted black haired head, a single brush of white at his temples. “My apologies, young lady.”

In that moment, Sansa relaxed sensing no danger, thankful her deception worked. She’s handling it a lot better than she thought. “Actually, I’m here buying chocolate for my siblings. They wanted an Arbor bar but it seems they are all sold out and the store is closing so I’ll be going home empty handed.”

“How unfortunate” She can hear the empathy in his tone “They don’t want anything else? Couldn’t they have waited until the next day to get one?”

But before she could answer his questions, the same associate who walked by previously made another round this time announcing the store is closed and to check out or leave. The lights start cutting out, the few emergency lights that are lit give the store an eerie glow, leaving the ones at check out bright. Together they walked to the front, purchasing out what little things he had in hand and her empty handed. The cashier kept giving her looks, she’s positive he’s questioning why she’s dressed this way. Sansa would do the same if it were the other way around. However it changes when her companion speaks.

“My daughter has an alternative sense of style.” 

_I could die_. Somehow it was enough for the cashier to leave it alone, likely due to how smoothly he lied. Regardless, she’s thankful.

Moments later they are walking out. Four cars remain in the parking lot now, Mr. Carmello’s van and the other two are the associate’s and cashier’s she assumes. Neither of them can afford the obvious exotic, its leaping Jaguar gleaming under the lamp light. Her family could, her father made more than enough money working in Parliament, but they would never buy one. Instead, they have a champagne coloured minivan her mother drives them around in and a fuel efficient white coupe her father uses. Ned Stark is a humble man, or so people say and what they say is the truth. If her family is anything like the Tyrell family, Sansa could have a new purse everyday like Margery, not scrounging weekly to buy one. Margery doesn’t get an allowance. The heiress to HG, High Garden, owns a credit card in her name so she can purchase whatever she wants, whenever she wants. No asking for her, only swiping. Sometimes Sansa wishes she was a part of their fashionable family. At school, Margery is dazzling in her designer clothes and shoes and bags. She has her own stylist that does her hair in the morning and a chauffeur to drive her to and from school or whenever they go out after and Sansa gets to sit inside a Rolls-Royce. It’s completely unfair she has to do everything for herself, buy the brands she wants herself.

“How did you get here?” 

“I walked.” Sansa responded flatly.

He gave her a startled look. “Would you like a ride?”

“Oh--I couldn’t possibly inconvenience you.” She meant it and also used it to cover her lie. She didn’t want him knowing where she lives just in case he decided to follow up with her mother and father. 

“No trouble at all. Frankly, I’m more troubled that such a beautiful young lady is walking alone at night. You don’t know what’s out there that could gobble you up and I’d feel responsible if anything had happened to you, the Seven forbid.”

There is a lingering pause while Sansa contemplated on the pros and cons going with this stranger. Yes, he has been kind to her, enough to lie and offer a ride, at the same time, she doesn’t know anything about him--his name or status or if he’s a visitor or resident to Kings Landing. He smiles, probably aware of her conflict, a motion picture on her face, and decides to unlock and open his passenger car door for her. 

Sansa doesn’t move to get in, not until she checks her phone one more time tonight and puts it away when still there is nothing from Arya. “Thank you, sir.”

“Please” he says as he gets into the driver's seat “call me Petyr.”


End file.
